By the Flowerfield
by writingdcsk
Summary: After years of loneliness, Kristoff enters his final year of high school where he rekindles a childhood companionship with Anna whom he'd been separated from. As he ventures the struggles of his home life, balance school, dares to rebuild a bond with the single one he could to turn to, and embarks on the years after, he slowly begins to learn the true meaning of "clannad": family.
1. Prologue

**A/N.** _By the Flowerfield_ is a story that follows Kristoff and Anna in their final year of high school. In the second half, the story will carry far after their high school careers. _By the Flowerfield_ is inspired by _Clannad_ and _Clannad: After Story_ from the Japanese visual novel company Key, written by Fumihiko Shimo. There is possible triggering content in the future of the story. There will be warnings as a note prior to selected chapters. I do not own _Frozen_ , any of it's characters, nor the _Clannad_ series in any way, shape, or form; this is simply fanfiction and it's for entertainment.

Let's embark on a ride.

* * *

 **Prologue**

A field was left solitary, though it is lovelier still, as the color presented from the sky compliments the land. It is crowded of the sunflowers which remained unkempt, with it's growth, from abandonment.

Insects had made their homes, along with mice and other small creatures, and yet they weren't quite alone.

Standing at it's edge was a couple, the smaller blonde latching onto her husband's arm.

Her eyes are doe, radiating as she follows the pattern, towards the horizon to the woodland before them. Once, twice, she'd opened her mouth to speak and she couldn't quite decide whether it was from the inscrutable anxious curl taking place low and full in her stomach, or the beauty, and how she's marked this as their place and she was speechless.

The woman envisions her children here. Her imagination paints a picture before her, the image of a small child bounding through the flowers.

"My mother used to take me here during the summer," her husband says.

The voice brings her attention upward and a appreciative grins forms purely through her adoration. He's still looking forward, as if he was reflecting as well. Her silence courses him to continue.

"It's a place that means something in the family," he says. "I'm... not sure what."

It's still not settled in, not quite yet, that the family was also hers now. Contentment coursed her veins and a sigh passes through her lips, resting a cheek against the hand curled over his arm. It squeezes there, at his bicep, and she bats thick eyelashes.

"Kenneth?"

His eyes travel downward."Yeah?"

"I.. " She searches for the words. "I love it, Kenneth."

A hand lowers to fold over her own very swollen belly.


	2. And That's Where He Met Her

Chapter One

* * *

 **"Fun things, happy things ... nothing stays that way forever.**

 **Even then, can you still bring yourself to like this place?"**

The sun shone on a simple, suburban neighborhood.

This is where he met her.

Sun is affiliated with joy, this was evident, and under everything upon him, a boy finds it, releasing a youthful grunt as the bat in his hand swings, making contact with the ball he'd tossed. Imagination does surface as his grin widens, settled, and he envisions a roaring crowd jumping to their feet. They wore the color of his team, signs in their hands. Some, he saw, thrust nachos covered in thick cheese past their lips, slurping sodas, and others, he saw tossing their foam fingers to the stadium floor at their feet, muttered curses between clenched teeth, and emit exclamations of regret as they witnessed the opposite team gain points.

It only built his satisfaction.

As they chant, they jump, repeating the boy's name like a mantra. It was Bjorgman; Kristoff Bjorgman and he almost deserved it.

Reality interrupts Kristoff's scenario as he squints under the sun, watching the ball soar further than he planned, into a outlying backyard. Purchasing yet another wasn't what he planned and he carried his small build in pursuit of the ball.

Kristoff peers through every fence, curling small digits around wood towering over him.

Albeit, a particular fence grasps his attention.

He's drawn to the home, a pastel yellow color, and visibly still radiating from the rest. As he eyes the small opening between the planks, past the bright flowers, he sees the lone ball rested in vibrant grass.

The child squats, charging to thrust himself up, latching onto the fence. He musters the body strength required to gather himself on top of the fence, seated in a position before tossing both legs over to land onto his worn in tennis shoes. Kristoff finds himself in a lushness, with fully bred flowers, the leaves of both trees and bushes green as if they'd been drenched in envy, the light tweet of a bird nested deep within the only tree present, and he allows a moment to drink this in.

Returning to the continuous task, he steps respectively on pavement until he reaches the ball.

He bends, capturing the sphere in his palms, and a breath of relief pasts his lips. He crosses the garden where a bird bath lay, reaching just at it's height, and he folds his arms at its rim.

The water catches the sunlight.

And a voice catches him.

"Hi," It says. Kristoff sips in a breath, leaving it tight in his throat as his whole posture stiffens. The child brings himself to twist his head where the voice emitted from, eyes wide like saucers, and they land upon a girl. Clearly, she was his age, her brows high, and tinted pink lips curled into an unsure, a gentle smile. She's standing at the screen door, which was now opened and uncovered from the curtain that shielded it.

A hat sat upon her head with the letter "AHS" knitted into the front.

"I'm Anna."

Kristoff says nothing.

He stares at the redhead, an overwhelming fear creeping up his spine, and he follows his first instinct, tearing off towards the fence for a grand escape. His breath comes out in panicked, short pants, as he struggles to bring himself over the towering blockade. Kristoff hears the other child gasp, stumbling after him, asking him to wait.

He hangs there pathetically, gawking at her over his shoulder as she comes upon him on bare feet, fingers curled anxiously at her chest.

"Woops," she mumbles, rocking on her heels. A girlish titter passes through her lips as she curls her blushing dress between her digits, up toward her mouth. "I'm sorry! I-I wasn't scaring you or nothin'. I thought we could be friends!"

Silence.

"Friends would be fun. Mama says I'm too sick to go make friends, so that's what we should be!"

Silence.

"Think so? You can come to my house and stuff. We can play out here!"

Kristoff's eyes shift. He didn't have many friends and frankly he didn't find himself wanting any.

His silence speaks blunt and curt volumes to her and the evidence lies on the dejection plastered on her face. She ultimately shrugs, accepting a no, and begins a slow descent backward in pursuit of her patio. " - sorry, " is the only word she happens to mumble and it's low and disappointed.

He watches her, his voice still stripped from his throat. Kristoff then twists forward to where his hands gripped the fence and after lining his lips with a stroke of his tongue, he starts to pull himself, upward, and halts. Conscience, his mother told him, was heavy. In that youthful mind, he understood this would follow him.

"Were you playing the piano?" He asks. Anna halts, stiffening, and she attempts to hide the grin that spreads on her cheeks. _He speaks!_ She turns then, all too fast, and nods her head. "Yup. I'm not very good, though. Mama's better."

Now, he nods.

"Why'd you come in my backyard?"

The hand with the ball rises, presenting it to her. "Lost it."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

The hat previously on her head is now in between her fingers as she twists it, the tiniest pry of anxiousness creeping up her neck, searching for a way to keep her new discussion going.

"Were you playing baseball?" Anna asks.

He nods again.

"By yourself?"

Another.

A pout. "That's no fun. I can play with you!"

Kristoff's face converts, "You play baseball?"

Her mouth opens, then closes. Anna shifts, defeated. "No. But, you can teach me, right?"

Kristoff furrows his eyebrows.

"I teach you how to play piano, you can teach me baseball. Deal?" She seems proud of herself, appearing beside him again as he still continues to hang. Her arm extends, a large, proud grin wiping across her face. Kristoff considers for a moment.

They were back to that friend subject. Releasing the fence, he lands on his feet. Kristoff holds the wrong hand out, switching the ball for the other, and wraps it around hers.

"Deal."


	3. AHS

**A/N.** I want everyone to know that updates will most likely not be this regular soon, however, I'm just trying to break the fic in, you know? Also, chapters may get longer after this. Thank you.

* * *

Chapter Two

* * *

The hood over Kristoff's head casts a domineering shadow over his face, his hands thrust in both pockets, and he watches the later summer breeze push through the leaves. He's waiting at the usual place, and pining, dreary, as before his eyes, a semester commences. It was this particular time of year that always happens to paint the portrait of a friendship and memory that once existed so many summers ago.

A cloud emits from slightly parted lips, he coughs, and then sets the cigarette in it's place: dangling from his lower lip.

It was the beginning of his final school year and the friend and the memory greets him, unfortunately, as he pads the idea of beginning it without _her_ once more. Summer had prompted thoughts of the girl, the flowers reminding him of how they'd taken over the place where they'd met and bonded, the warmth and daring rays of the daylight reminding him of her unmistakable vibrance, and the mysteries of the new year bringing notions of where she was now.

He made an attempt, physically shaking his head, to idle the thoughts into the distance when he hears a faint call of his name.

Kristoff knew the origin of the thickly accented voice before he saw it.

"Ah, and so it begins!" He turns to catch sight of the dusty, umber haired friend barreling in his direction. Upon his arrival, Kristoff discards the cigarette butt to the ground, rough coughs escaping his lips in attempt to clear the resting dust, and he tugs the hood, though it doesn't move.

"In seven months, we'll be graduating."

"Not fast enough," is Kristoff's reply, a bitter mutter.

"It's our last year," Sven pines, furrowing thick brows together. "Why rush it, eh?"

He ponders the thought. Graduation, after all this time.

Within his memory, there's the vague image of a freshman with the same thick and familiar accent, just much more pronounced, all tasseled sentences and broken words. He was a student arriving for freshman year from southern Norway and those qualities made a point of turning against him. It casted him aside and although the other was wholly and thoroughly categorized in the same group, he found himself reluctant and he offered only a shrug to the particular foreign.

Swollen and a nose too big for his face, Kristoff carries on.

He stopped, however, on one particular afternoon, just after the bell had rung to release fourth period students to their lunch.

* * *

 _"Gon'na do something? Are you big?" He hears. "Huh?"_

 _A shove and the fourteen year old was into the wall, a collective squad of juniors and seniors towering intimidating above his thin, scrawny build. Sven mentally kicks himself for sniffing, his eyes reddening. He presses against the wall to rise up, but it results in another forceful push into the brick detailing._

 _"What are you crying for?" The shorter, rounded one proceeds to join, a demeaning swat at the back of Sven's skull._

 _Kristoff winces at the sight._

 _They began a continuous shove, forcing the younger boy to and from those circling him, his backpack swinging about. Kristoff was, for now, all meat and much less muscle. Not to mention his shoulder, his damn shoulder, it was venom and kryptonite and with no consideration, it would fail him._

 _Prying a voice from his throat that escaped far weaker than he would've planned, he says, "Just leave him alone, alright?"_

 _The boys come to a halt, their large hands holding Sven in one place as he absentmindedly touches the tips of his fingers to a cut against his temple. He makes a face, confused and yet somehow relieved at the freshman in front of them._

 _"If you fight him," Kristoff says, "you fight me, too." With that, he peels the drawstring from his back and allows it to fall to the tiles beneath his feet._

 _His arms spread open, waiting, despite the bead of sweat lining his neck._ _His voice bled a mass of confidence he knew he damn well didn't have._

 _The upperclassmen dart eyes at each other._

 _Silence._

 _That was the last thing either remembered before both boys were seated, pathetic and defeated, in two of the five plastic blue chairs lined in the clinic._

 _Kristoff was groaning to himself, feeling stupid while sporting an impressive full, bloodied lip that he presses an ice packet to, his knee stinging. Sven's eye has swollen shut, tinted deep shades of purple and black with a rich collection of bandages across his cheeks, his arm._

 _They looked at each other._

 _Blinked once._

 _Twice._

 _Then, fell into hysteric laughter._

* * *

Kristoff's reminiscing, however, comes to a close when he realizes he's blanked, Sven's patent ramblings invading am unpresent ear. Kristoff brings himself back, as his companion stares aside to him.

Kristoff frowns. "What?"

"... how's your sister? Dad?" Sven invertedly asks. "You _did not_ hear me the first time?"

Kristoff's form tightens and woodens at his inquiry, and inside his hoodie pockets, fists grip with unspoken anxiety.

"Fine," he deadpanned. Sven's brows furrow in understanding.

"Okay."

The hallways were in it's usually packed plight. Kristoff could identify the several different types of students, going forward with him, the others in the opposite direction.

He notices a few eyes, some of disapproval. Kristoff hadn't generally upheld a brilliant reputation in his years of attendance. However, the other group he sees splintering eyes into him were girls, then whispering to their friends, and honestly, he hadn't ever taken notice of these groups.

Kristoff ducks skillfully through the crowds, standing tall and he ultimately slips into a men's bathroom.

The bell blaring over the classrooms, the hallways, welcoming a new year, clears the restroom free and Kristoff barricades himself into a stall, lights yet another cigarette, and slips the smoke in between his lips. He's staring forward, his brow creased, and gentle, morose sighs flow through his nose. A difficult task indeed, however, he's managed to stay relatively subtle of his use of cigarettes and whiskey and liquor disguised in a water bottle on campus.

He's now more distant, more uninvolved, as he exits the bathroom.

Kristoff glances both directions to meet the eyes of barren hallway and pulls the crumpled, unkempt paper from his pocket that'd stated his classes. As he makes a corner, an impact throws him off, cursing as he tumbles to the floor beneath his feet. On top of his, is another body, and a girlish yelp leaves this other body.

They land in a messy, awkward heap of limbs and clothing.

"Hey!" It says.

"Watch out!" Kristoff returns. "Try not running in the halls-"

He glances up to meet cerulean eyes and pauses.

"... Anna?"

* * *

 **A/N.** YIKES. Could it be?


	4. NOTE (not a chapter)

**A/N.**

I apologize for the delay after the quick first few updates. The next chapter will come out soon, probably within the next week.

I'll be going on a long drive to Orlando, FL for vacation, so there will be tons of time to write in the car. The point of this is **BTFF is still going to be updating**. I'm just pretty busy right now.

Thank you, see ya real soon.

\- M


	5. Theory of Everything

**A/N.** WOW. I'm so sorry this chapter took so long. Everything's been crazy lately and I haven't had a lot of alone time to write. But, it's here now!

Just so everyone's aware, I do keep making references to their childhood for a reason. You'll understand what happened. All will be understood next chapter. Thank you for sticking around. Get to reading now.

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

* * *

In a distant memory, he recalls his moments of their childhood.

Recollect paints a bittersweet portrait of the familiar backyard where he sits in a plastic chair across a pure white table that summer. It also paints in an image of her mother with a floppy hat pressed far on her head as she works in the vegetation of the garden. She's peering upward at them every other moment, a grin on her face before becoming distracted once more.

The same cap on her head, Anna's distracted as well, her eyes round and doe as she gawks at the clean wood of the fence. She starts at the sound of a car speeding past and the distant sound of a dog's curious bark.

There's the urge she posses and it's to throw caution to the wind, leaping from the chair and over the fence. She'd wanted nothing more than to thoroughly explore every inch and every corner of the world surrounding her. A grand adventure, as she describes it.

"Hey," she mumbles to the boy across the table. When he turns, he's greeted with a beaming smile. She rests her cheeks against either heel of her palm and the joy emits gaudily from her. "Let's have an _adventure_!"

He looks at her, adjusting the small child in his lap. As if triggered by the idea, she slaps tiny palms into the table.

Anna responds to his wordless inquiry, "For my birthday. After the party, let's go."

Kristoff cocks his head, though intrigued. "But... where?"

"I don't care," she admits. "Anywhere. Not even just for my birthday.. Let's go everywhere after."

"Everywhere?"

"Yup!" She clasps her hands together. "Everywhere. Me and you."

"Can we do that?"

"Why not?"

Kristoff never forgot that.

* * *

When Kristoff originally pictured a reunion, he'd imagined the overflow of joy and happiness, filling every edge of their bodies, obvious tears, and an embrace he'd longed for over the years.

That wasn't happening.

A pregnant silence engulfs the both of them. The taller swallows the many sentences that'd planned to develop. Kristoff remains wordless, as he usually would and yet this time, he finds himself longing to shatter the habit.

He stares at her.

She stares at him.

The latter's heart throbs mercilessly against her chest and she catches a quivering lip between her teeth. There's the noticeable pull of regret and betrayal to her chest, her emotions are, however, barricaded by the undeniable missing that arrives at the sight of him.

"Hi," she says. Her lips twitch, trying a smile. It doesn't work.

Kristoff's wary of her greeting. His trust has now run quite low and Anna had once owned practically every existing part there was. The absent trust is sharp from his eye to hers and he begins to bend. He's reaching for a floral binder, packed with neat papers in their designated places and extends his arm to her.

It was his closest alternative for a handshake. "Hey."

She, though hesitant, grasps it from his much larger hand, offering a wordless nod as her gratitude.

The silence overcame them again. Anna pitches to shatter it first, "You look... different."

His brow arches, "Is that bad?"

"No!" She retorts, visibly cringing. "Not at all, no - that's not... no. You're just not, you know, Kristoff-y."

"Right.."

"It's just, like, I know for _sure_ when I left you, you weren't this large!" Another cringe. "I'm probably just.. short. But, you were definitely not way up there, you know? I mean, you're not _big_ big, like fat big, you're actually in very nice .. shape."

Kristoff gapes at the girl before him, his head cocked and hands swaddled in the worn-in sweatshirt's pockets. The particular girl before him has her head lowered in regret of her ramblings. She brings a hand up to cup over her forehead as the mental image of _slapping_ herself is embedded shamelessly into her mind.

"You're definitely not different."

The voice raises her chin, her expression curious. When she does meet his eye, the sight she's graced with is only a hint of a smile, though a smile nonetheless, and something knowing in brown hues. The gentler expression eases some of the harsh tension packed heavy into her shoulders.

"Is that bad?" She mimics.

"No," he says. "Not at all, no."

Neither one speaks when they sit in a discovered location beneath the west hall's staircase.

One's anxiously at her lip, the other's head dangles low. He looks at her and he takes this moment to allow his eyes to hover, to notice a now grown Anna, and he notes the several references from their childhood still present. The brightly colored, floral dresses and her pigtails, always her pigtails.

"Where.. have you been?" Kristoff inquiries. She turns her head to the man aside her.

"Places," she says, an uneasy laugh following. "Everywhere."

"Everywhere, huh?"

"Everywhere."

He's eyeing her despite the bittersweet memory that occurs to him. Alas, the familiar silence lowers into the that particular space beneath the stairs.

He ponders the meaning of "everywhere".

"How about you?" She's smiling, but something stings her beneath her own words.

He considers the question, searches for an answer, and can only devise, "Here."

They'd glanced in unison and their eyes repelled much like equal polarities. A period had passed they realize as the bell sounds and a commotion arises with students who pour from their classrooms. It fills in their quiet and stays that way for the brief few minutes between periods.

Kristoff finds himself distant from the moment, lost in his own memories. Anna had quite clearly done the same and as the noise dies away, he hears a faint sniff at his side.

He twists his head, his brows furrowed, and a question has built within his throat, though it doesn't escape. She still answers it.

"You.." She whimpers. "You didn't come to my birthday."

There's the instinctive anxious twitch of his hand and he becomes very aware of his heartbeat.

* * *

"We'll have cake and everything!" Anna exclaims, her hands clasped together at her chest.

The heat of late June beats incessantly on pale, full cheeks and it tints them a crimson color. Joining the obvious color was the way her eyes had grown, imagining streamers and a layered cake smothered in a thick, chocolate coating. Across their usual table is Kristoff, his baby sister now facing him on his lap. She busies herself with his wrinkled shirt pulling, clutching, astonished by the fabric's movement.

His vision is pointed past the infant to his friend. His expression claims discomfort, "Just us, right?"

Her shoulders lower right along with her expression, and she graces a solemn nod. "Mhm," Anna mumbles. "You're my only friend."

Though his instinct remains to be to stray from peers, the guilt in his features is far evident and he had the ability to identify the dejection in her own. "I can talk to other kids," he offers.

The soft skin of her palm tingles, and while her eyes grow round and hopeful, a smile pries reluctantly at her lips. "Really?" It gifts her the chance for other children to arrive in her home for her to befriend, and the thought alone prompts her to swing around in her seat, near striking the chair off it's legs. "Mama!"

Iduna glances from the bushes, petrified as the shout of her daughter's voice triggers a sore memory, "Anna? Are you okay? Do you feel sick?"

The child seems untroubled by the response, and her smile causes a crinkle beneath her eyes. "Nuh-uh," Anna hums with a rapid shake of her head. "I wan'na have other kids at the party!"

"Who?"

She points to the boy across the table, "Kristoff's gon'na tell his friends!"

Iduna's eyes then move to him and despite the uneasy tightness Anna's proposal prompts, she offers a heedful smile. "How sweet of you." Dusting her pants, she steps to the table. Iduna pries the dirt matted glove from her hand and places it on his shoulder. "That's a kind thing to do for Anna."

A flush spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. His shoulders roll beneath her touch and he slumps into his chair offering only a shrug.

"Can they come, Mama?" Anna asks. Cerulean eyes beg. "Please?"

Iduna feels a guilty burden. She sighs, sliding her hand along the side of her face. "I'll talk to your father," she says. The bead of sweat on her daughter's temple prompts her to cup that hand at her forehead instead. "For now, it might be time to go inside. You're getting warm.. we wouldn't want you sick again, right?"

A nod and Anna raises her arms to be hoisted. "Okay, mama."

Swinging her child onto her hip, her eyes shift to the boy. He's sitting cross legged in the chair, the infant cradled to his chest. "Kristoff, honey?"

He looks to her.

"Would you like to stay longer? You can have lunch with us."

Kristoff considers her offer, a falter in his comfort. His eyes are at the tall fence in direction of his home. The thought wrings a wince and he nods.

"Okay." There's a smile as she holds out her hand. "Come on, then."


End file.
